Chapter 15 - Page 2

weights against it until at
last with a sharp snap the lock broke, and they crowded into the narrow
passage. The inner door was ajar, and the laboratory lay before them.

In the centre was an enormous heap of fluffy grey ash, reaching up
half-way to the ceiling. Beside it was another heap, much smaller, of
some brilliant scintillating dust, which shimmered brightly in the rays
of the electric light. All round was a bewildering chaos of broken jars,
shattered bottles, cracked machinery, and tangled wires, all bent and
draggled. And there in the midst of this universal ruin, leaning back
in his chair with his hands clasped upon his lap, and the easy pose of
one who rests after hard work safely carried through, sat Raffles Haw,
the master of the house, and the richest of mankind, with the pallor of
death upon his face. So easily he sat and so naturally, with such a
serene expression upon his features, that it was not until they raised
him, and touched his cold and rigid limbs, that they could realise that
he had indeed passed away.

Reverently and slowly they bore him to his room, for he was beloved by
all who had served him. Robert alone lingered with the policeman in
the laboratory. Like a man in a dream he wandered about, marvelling at
the universal destruction. A large broad-headed hammer lay upon the
ground, and with this Haw had apparently set himself to destroy all
his apparatus, having first used his electrical machines to reduce to
protyle all the stock of gold which he had accumulated. The
treasure-room which had so dazzled Robert consisted now of merely four
bare walls, while the gleaming dust upon the floor proclaimed the fate
of that magnificent collection of gems which had alone amounted to a
royal fortune. Of all the machinery no single piece remained intact,
and even the glass table was shattered into three pieces. Strenuously
earnest must have been the work which Raffles Haw had done that day.

And suddenly Robert thought of the secret which had been treasured in
the casket within the iron-clamped box. It was to tell him the one last
essential link which would make his knowledge of the process complete.
Was it still there? Thrilling all over, he opened the great chest, and
drew out the ivory box. It was locked, but the key was in it. He
turned it and threw open the lid. There was a white slip of paper with
his own name written upon it. With trembling fingers he unfolded it.
Was he the heir to the riches of El Dorado, or was he destined to be a
poor struggling artist? The note was dated that very evening,
and ran in this way:

"MY DEAR ROBERT,--My secret shall never be used again. I cannot
tell you how I thank Heaven that I did not entirely confide it to
you, for I should